"acquires" poems
With ideas in her head,
she acquires ingredients from creation.
She picks up some bread,
some meats and some crustacean.
With purchases in her hands,
she assembles them into her curation.
Each ingredient has a plan,
that's all part of her preparation.
She cook in her pots and pans,
dishes of her imagination.
Juggling flavours and textures,
from experience and experimentation.
She host her friends regularly,
not any one group particularly.
With smiles, laughter and her kitchen art,
everyone sense the generosity from her heart.
She is the artist,
the scientist,
the chef,
the friend
and my wife.
Jan 4, 2020
Jan 4, 2020 at 5:39 AM UTC
In the face of war
Loudly our fears drum.
The lioness ready for a feast
I heard Lucifer is angry against God
Battling to get Him to His kneels.
Blood is reigning
The blood sucker awaken
In pieces the sky has fallen
The moon now a commoner
And the sun a drunk wanderer.
Where are the innocence
The black cloud acquires,
Vultures need the flesh of the angels
Their bone the dogs also desire.
The dragon has been unleashed to flood the world,
This time, no one is right enough not to be wrong,
Yes, No saints, No Noah,
No ark to sail to a new world.
Death our creditor, we the borrower
The covenant can't be erased not even a word.
See what we have done to ourselves fighting our creator
See how we successfully drive ourselves to our destructions.
If God finally conquer the Armageddon
In the recreation of a new kingdom
I will want to be the Adam without eve
Dying to see what difference that will make indeed
Because this world is such a complicated trip
The returnees will hate to repeat.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC
Overcome the devils with a thing called love.
- Bob Marley
Judge not, before you judge yourself. Judge not, if you’re not ready for judgement.
- Bob Marley
Live for yourself and you will live in vain. Live for others and you will live again.
- Bob Marley
The biggest coward is a man who awakens a woman’s love with no intention of loving her.
- Bob Marley
The greatness of a man is not in how much wealth he acquires, but in his integrity and his ability to affect those around him positively.
- Bob Marley
I, only have one ambition, you know? I only have one thing I really like to see happen. I like to see mankind live together – black, white, Chinese, everyone – that’s all.
- Bob Marley
Though the road’s been rocky, it sure feels good to me.
- Bob Marley
When asked how he could perform 2 days after being shot: The people who were trying to make this world worse are not taking the day off. Why should I? Light up the darkness.
- Bob Marley
Every man gotta right to decide his own destiny.
- Bob Marley
Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet.
- Bob Marley
My future is righteousness.
- Bob Marley
Truth is, everybody is going to hurt you; you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for.
- Bob Marley
Love the life you live. Live the life you love.
- Bob Marley
One good thing about music — when it hits you, you feel no pain.
- Bob Marley
Who are you to judge the life I live?. I know I’m not perfect and I don’t live to be. But before you start pointing fingers, make sure your hands are clean.
- Bob Marley
The good times of today are the sad thoughts of tomorrow.
- Bob Marley
Love would never leave us alone.
- Bob Marley
When the race gets hard to run, it means you just can’t take the pace.
- Bob Marley
Don’t forget your history, nor your destiny.
- Bob Marley
Don’t worry about a thing, every little thing is gonna be alright.
- Bob Marley
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
1
*In the masquerade of a poet
he acquires secret wings,
becomes equal parts real and unreal,
treading the twilight zone.
He still is an apprentice
with the conjurer,
incomparable wizard
who never stops amazing
being the anarch of slight of hand,
the illusionist grand,
we in the flow who swim or drown
in the river, known as life
that none ever defined the way it really is.
2
Inside his cubicle
transformed to a scribe by a curse
when he coveted it, was a boon
he is real, all his magical powers robbed
by the day light, realities of life
he is grappling with news
that make his heart grow weak.
He is now a sobbing poet within,
firmly handcuffed to a pact strict,
only to write reports, that's his might
anything of beauty he couldn't escape,
its all pain in forms unimaginable
most of it man made, even famine.
A life swinging between a hope
to come in terms with
the uncertainties of the ebb and flow
that breaks his heart bit by bit,
and facing realities stark that drives a knife
has become the rut, he wouldn't escape.
Dawn peeps through the window blind
he has lost meaning for day and night long time back
when this double life, has trapped him in this pen*
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 7:01 PM UTC
I hear a whisper on a spirits curve
In vast isolation's of exaggerated stresses
Become touched with fire
My mind adrift with a beautiful squandering
Of inclusion which acquires an uncanny capacity
To breed, to reproduce to have floatations
Such flotillas of words that sail across my horizon
An armada of silent sound for such as is their rebirth
These whispered words that dot my waves
And leave my lashes blinking at their boldness
For they are the words, they are, they are the words
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 8:01 PM UTC
Comes a scented melancholy rolling into love before the call
Never doubting your presence or mine
Idle talk acquires air which comes before a fall
Fading soon into the rapid hum
Of your departing spine
A resting phrase kissed half blind tears from scented wings
Burning them into our memories
Yet there was no sorrow, in or about anything
Or fear felt when you faded
Into the breeze
Ancient wisdom came to us, making us serenely aware
Of all the ripples rolling into our midst
We merely held on to the sweetness we shared
Knowing, those ripples would fade
No longer exist
Comes a scented cheerfulness rolling into our present
Never doubting your presence or mine
Those ripples have faded into love’s astonishment
Forever sending the sweetest chills
Up and down our spines
Dec 24, 2010
Dec 24, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
The dikasts had cast their votes,
and their votes had sealed my fate.
I serve as scapegoat for my city,
which has been in decline of late.
Banishment would have been death,
a lingering one for me.
So I managed to persuade them
to vote for the death penalty.
So now friends I become
a Hemlock connoisseur.
Others favor wines and liquors
but my poison is more sure .
To be sure, the juice was bitter,
and I drained it down in haste.
It is not the sort of beverage
for which one acquires taste.
I am, in truth, no Democrat
and My gods were not their gods.
My constant questioning annoyed them
which is why we were at odds.
The chill has reached my *****
and soon now I will sleep.
but one thing on my mind
requires that I speak:.
“Crito, we owe a ****
to Asclepius,.
Make sure it is paid
please do not neglect it.”
I cover my face over
as my heart slows and stops.
A mystic fog envelopes me
as the boatman’s ship departs.
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 9:13 AM UTC
In depths of my unfathomable psyche
Submerged I find myself floating around in the ‘shallow’ societal sea of our world.
Oh but it is not ‘shallow’ you’ll see
It is a deep blue ocean that withholds great mystery;
& those who see it as ‘shallow’
Are only those who stand in clouds of constant oblivion; Ceasing the inhale of beauty, intellect, and individuality.
In the depths of my unfathomable psyche
Throughout every passing day
I observe, I listen, and I take into account the things that are done and said by every individual person I come across.
Now here I sit, in the complete abduction of the beautiful, yet merciless monster called insomnia, without fail of corse accompanied by her sister solitude;
& I reflect.
In the depths of my unfathomable psyche
I realize that in order to best express the realization of my reflection…
I must let my walls down; so I will.
And now that I have…
The word to describe the feeling that takes over ‘me’ in this very moment is one that acquires the ability to depict ones exact feelings in a way I do not obtain.
In the depths of my unfathomable psyche
I feel lonely because I know that the odds of me meeting someone as insane as me are slight; yet I feel appreciative because I couldn’t imagine possessing such an ugly, close minded, and indifferent insight.
I feel a type of sadness that could only emerge from a person that fears never getting to experience the comfort that comes from acceptance; yet i feel overwhelming excitement and longing in the midst of my hopeless romantic type daydream of the possibility that I will find my somebody that does not seek to comprehend or figure me out but will accept ever corner and color I currently am and everything I have yet to become
I feel pitty for the average;
Yes I am not sane
Yes I am not average
And yes the depths of my true thoughts I have not learned to control; but my insanity is and will always be the fuel to my potential.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
*An oracle possessed by a spirit disquieted,
he contains a world unknown even to himself,
a poem gets written by itself, within himself,
organizing material eclectically on its own
from roots to crust, essence of experiences,
mingle with hopes, fears and yearnings,
creating alloys of emotions, welding words to mean different,
fixing formations and evocative images,
when he stops contended, unfinished yet, many parts in dark still,
then the readers get themselves invited in to the thickets,
disentangle the vines, make way through the foliage thick,
hanging branches and twigs, light falls in the darkened corners,
the poet and creator, the oracle himself, sits looking at the flowers and fruits
bathed in a new light, on what the subconscious spoke,
when he listens, the singing of the birds acquires new meaning,
sound of the running brook has a rhythm not familiar,
that take him to the sea, where all end in a swim, like in a dream*
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
Black
is dripping from
the clouds.
White,
storks are
painted black.
Red
rain lashes
raising alarm.
Green
fields are turning grey
before our naked eyes.
Blue
skies are
beyond eyeshot
always.
Yellow
leaves
fall all through
the year.
The globe
acquires a
new wardrobe
beware!
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 12:37 PM UTC
Why can't my liver filter thoughts like it does with alcohol?
It would save me the trouble of all the money I've spent to free myself of bad decisions,
There is so much formality within a sober moment, while my drunkenness speaks freely,
My brain doesn't erase moments like alcohol does, yet my liver puts up a fight reminding me to think,
Fantasizing over an image created by theses slurred and blurred overzealous eyes,
I am attracted to bars like teachers are to mls style, and to this day I'm still not sure which one has been more beneficial.
Looking down the road of allowing glass, I measured my state of mind to pick my poison,
Tequila adds a flower to a withering soul, ***** snuffs out the light where it gets to bold, whiskey fakes the fight with its bros, while gin loosens the bones and wine your emotions, at last we have beer a truth serum more powerful than love,
What they all take is feeling, a small price to learning what we see in the refection is really something we refuse to collude with.
My liver is always amazed, the amount of control I give to it, whilst the hand with a drink in it stays steady,
The other acquires shame, controlled by a freedom of released inhibitions,
If I could escape the safety of the dinner lights for the missing love that I thought drive me here,
My liver is alone, in the battle, like one soldier who's realized that their command center threw them into a death trap and their enemies are mindless zombies of fallen memories,
My toast is not alone, followed by smiles and condolences, significant enough to convince everyone, maybe one more.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 4:04 PM UTC
At the peak his roar is in the words of mountain winds,
a rare sweetness it brings out,a flow natural from his self,
she acquires then the lilt of a song bird,flying in an open cloudless sky,
a song bird that has sweetly pecked her aggressive mate to submit,
something she couldn't believe,that astonishment becomes her croon.
They soar, the illusion of wings make them both lose bearing,wobble,
going up, up to dizzy heights,above the caressing silver white clouds,
then slowly tumbling down on earth,they feel like feathers entwined.
The wind whistles a tune,eyes widely closed they jive, time stands still,
that sweet exhaustion,prods for one more dance above the clouds.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:55 AM UTC
Beating of drums and the midnight fires;
heroes and children shed blood in the sand
waging war for political liars.
Do what the situation requires.
through strikes of panic in a foreign land -
beating of drums and the midnight fires.
Desert beauty, a thing that inspires,
won’t save child martyrs, dead by their own hand,
waging war for political liars.
Sacrifice all, for Allah admires
a strong willed martyr to play as they can;
beating of drums and the midnight fires.
Light up the night for wasted desires.
Mother will love you as part of the plan;
waging war for political liars.
Heroes or children, each of them tires -
forfeit of future; all he acquires;
beating of drums and the midnight fires;
waging war for political liars.
Lin Cava©
A Villanelle has some very specific rules for the form. The repetition sets up a cadence; a particular rhythm. This is one of my first of the form.
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 4:00 PM UTC
my lover equates me with my favorite instrument;
running his fingers down the strings of my flesh,
building tension and release as he sees fit.
the movement of our lips almost quantized
to match each other’s harmony.
every taste he acquires from me is
another texture added to his collection of sounds.
I want to let him know
that he can learn me to my very core
and play me to his heart’s content
like a cherub playing the harp
as he ascends the heavens.
May 7, 2024
May 7, 2024 at 3:13 AM UTC
The emergence of a new born is announced by her cries in the cold
That very moment she leaves the warmth in which she was mould
But in reassuring arms,
She is comforted and grows calm.
Soon she realises there's more to life than candy and sweets,
And someday she would have to stand alone on her feet.
Was she prepared to face the world?
No, there were countless times she ran back in, and cried out to her Lord!
Her innocence and optimism
Is challenged by the world's depravity and pessimism
Every now and then, she's under pressure
To disregard virtues she's always treasured.
She knows she ought to be patient and ought not to worry
But that's really difficult in a world where everyone is in a hurry.
Eventually, she loses her peace
For the things her eyes sees.
Fearing she may be lagging behind
She adopts schemes that are truly not refined
Sadly, the more she craves and acquires
The more the vacuum in her heart requires
Her emptiness reveals her deeper need for something more than things
Regrettably, her lust has made her lose her love and regard for beings.
Oh No! this is not the sweet girl has parents had raised,
And the streets in which she grew praised.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 6:04 AM UTC
She’s beautiful.
But not stunning.
She wishes she had more than she does.
But she could survive with less.
(It would probably make her better).
She’s good at settling for less and wearing a mask.
They’ve all “loved” her, for they were too low to realize she wasn’t the best.
However, she has never lied to any of them.
Except one.
Its simple, really; all she had to do was make them believe she lived en amore.
Once she got inside, she talked a good game, for a long while.
Knock, knock.
The sheer look of perpetual amazement overcame all of their faces.
They always let her in.
Chit-chat to her was simply that.
To them: “She talked to me about the weather!”
Excitement.
(Which doesn’t make sense to me, because if anyone else tried to converse about the weather they wouldn’t have it.)
She and they were always “big”; you know, the small-town girl always with people that she is unexpected to be with.
She always let them down.
Hard.
(They fall like dominos.)
She let something silly and casual evolve into something they thought was the biggest and best thing in the world, and she played it off as if she believed that as well.
And then she pulled the rug out from every single one of them, said her choice words, and disappeared.
She’s not touchy-feely, clingy, or insecure.
Independence controls her life.
Everything is organized to a T and while she has few friends, they are real.
Or are they?
She’s not a fence-sitter.
She knows what she wants and she always acquires it.
But in this particular case, she seems to believe that it will be grandiose.
She’ll carry through and carry out.
After she psychoanalyzes the benefits and risks.
Or maybe spontaneity will rule this situation.
She knows it will work, so why not do it?
He’ll fall.
Just like all the rest.
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 1:59 PM UTC
He seems obvious to the note passing,
To the eyes spying and the paper ***** flying.
He sits at his desk with a meek expression upon his face,
Not quite staring into space, but a place.
I can tell by this clean features and his put-together attire,
That he acquires to be in a position higher with such desire.
That he's dreaming of a place that doesn't require baby-sitting hormonally deranged teenagers,
It's a place where maybe he's a manager or somewhere fighting potential danger,
The bell rings above his head which shakes him back to the present time,
He adjusts his jacket and looks around like he committed a crime, then he smiles goodbye to his students like they were piles of grime.
I creep up to his desk and tell him,
It's not that grim, remember, the glass is full to the brim.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 6:26 PM UTC
curious to distinguish that which resides within us; defined so greatly by our flesh and the colour of our fingernails and what’s underneath our blouses or the size of his
wallet.
but to figure out yourself is to figure out the universe.
curious as our species is, our species yearns to advance
(quickly!)
and in that acquires indolence.
[one home
one source
one try]
like black molasses, poison gases;
curious as to which race our race is running.
but to figure out the meaning is to figure out yourself.
the blueprints left of thou are hidden in plain sight;
the blueprints left of thou are hidden in the planes (see it)
are hidden in the mountains,
are hidden in the trees.
o’ rotten heavens, fill our souls with waste but veil the orders that you’ve written:
what happens when we renounce?
to figure out the universe is to figure out the meaning.
Oct 28, 2011
Oct 28, 2011 at 3:53 AM UTC
The vision of a loud sleep
Howling in a evolution spirit
As the corner of wars acquires a silent danger
Society of concealed disdain, succumbs when freedom disappears
Where mindless premonitions shriek
Erupting with desperation
Dreams jars full of color
Decomposing perceptions with shreds of fate
The map of my introspective is a harrowing walk
Twisted in a weave of deceit
Trying to stifle the air of depression
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
What will happen if I stop trying,
When I give up and start crying
Will there be someone who feels the same way,
Who will understand things I can’t say?
What will happen if I stop caring,
When I lose all hope and stop daring
Will someone help me pull myself together,
And tell me I can’t be like this forever?
What will happen if I stop feeling,
When emotions float through the ceiling
Will there be someone with a gentle touch,
Who reminds me that without love, I am not much?
What will happen if I stop breathing,
When life itself acquires its meaning
Will there be someone who remembers me,
Who feels my presence in places others can’t see?
What will happen when I stop being so pessimistic,
When I lock up all this negativity and become realistic
When I appreciate the beauty around me everyday,
And realise life shouldn’t be lived any other way.
What will happen when I start smiling,
When I understand that every cloud has a silver lining
When I don’t need someone to tell me who I am,
When I can be independent and not be defined by a man.
This will happen when I start living,
When I stop blaming myself and start forgiving
When I will finally be able to see
What happens when I am different, when I am me.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 10:27 AM UTC
~~~
this
ribcage
of
resonance
and reason
has no
resemblace
to the
real
being
busted and broken
bearing
bruised
body
by
brusque
brutality
but
LISTEN
life
loquacious
liquid
longing
acquires
artifacts
of
abstract
ART
SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 4:40 AM UTC
I think I might be evil
or a wicked witch maybe
each time my spouse is annoying
he acquires a curious injury!
It's not really a conscious thought
that goes through my mind
although it really seems to work
in my favour, I find!
He'll try to be sarcastic
and think he's really funny
he may be brave enough to mention
that I don't earn all the money
but when he begins to stand
and maybe try walking
he'll almost trip over
and feel that he's suffering
He joked about my weight one day
then tried to run and flee
I just sat there 'glaring' at him
hearing a shocking 'crack' from his knee
So maybe I am a witch
It really makes me wonder
while he's writhing in pain by my feet
I'll just sit here and ponder
; )
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
Oh, my love, it seems we
...are at an impasse.
How has love been everything,
And, now, not nearly enough?
I am worn thin
bracing the waves of your tepid ire.
I fear the hardened heart anger’s object often acquires
But I do not doubt it.
Where are we now
But blundering with half- baked intentions
And no concrete decisions?
The whole of my childhood dreams
Has mildewed and molded
And is rotting in my throat
While yours are atrophying around your arm bones.
This is the price of age.
(This is the punishment for destructive decisions.)
The wood of our bones my be distressed,
But our ship is strong.
There is always a way.
We have only to follow it.
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 6:11 PM UTC
I was a dead body, decaying in decades of wreckage, buried in my tarnished land. Shape shifting into a muse that acquires its sunday best to stand tall, relentlessly.
And yet life is much wiser than to all of my whims, molding my heart as a vessel of my misadventures, and veins that bears my broken dreams. I still dance on a hard wood floor, memorizing the creaks on it; memorizing the fear of falling.
My skin and bone grows in unfamiliar love, shaped into a misery, it is morphed on my own garden of heaven and abyss, relinquished its life in romanticism and death.
Mar 14, 2024
Mar 14, 2024 at 11:42 AM UTC